Exit Freeway Right, Accompanied
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Vince's sudden, darkly amused laughter cut him off. "Mia? You think any of that was about Mia?" Slash, tag for first movie.
1. Exit Freeway Right, Accompanied

**Title**: Exit Freeway Right, Accompanied

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Disclaimer**: The world belongs to Justin Lin, Vin Diesel, et. al. The words are mine.

**Rating**: T

**Spoilers**: Fast and the Furious (2001)

**Summary**: _Vince's sudden, darkly amused laughter cut him off. "Mia? You think any of that was about Mia?"_ 5800 words.

**Notes**: In partial fulfillment of a meme prompt, specifically the part, "How about Brian springs Vince before heading to Miami." A little handwavy on the medical details.

* * *

It took Brian more time than he'd have liked to get his shit together to leave Los Angeles after detonating his career. In retrospect, he was pretty sure he should have been more prepared for the inevitable- but he'd managed to persist in believing that he could somehow do his job _and_ keep his new family right up until the critical moment when he'd stared into Mia's eyes and demanded she give Dom's cell phone number to the Nextel operator.

Something had died in her expression then, as it really sank in for her that she was giving her brother up. That Brian really wasn't just her mechanic boyfriend with a crazy story, but a _cop_ who'd been lying to them all from the start, and that Dom could very well go to jail because of her cooperation.

She'd done it anyway, because she'd still trusted him enough to believe he was right: that the truckers were arming, and that someone might die if they didn't catch up to them in time. But he'd broken her faith- and the last of his ability to detach from the situation at the same time. There'd been too much of the real Brian O'Conner bleeding over into his cover identity already; when Mia had looked at him like that, with wounded eyes he remembered all too well from his last fight with Rome in Barstow, he'd lost what still remained of his objectivity.

Everything else he'd done had been pretty much a foregone conclusion after that. Recklessly jumping onto the truck to save Vince. Calling in a lifeflight chopper without informing the dispatcher that the victim was also a suspect in the truck heists. Avenging Jesse, and indulging that one last race with Dom.

Giving Dom the keys to the Supra. That was the last straw. He couldn't even imagine the string of lies he'd have to tell Bilkins and Tanner after that; he was done.

So, yeah. He'd bolted for his actual home first, clearing out just enough necessities for the next step and leaving his badge on the bathroom mirror. Then he'd gone for the back room he'd been borrowing at The Racer's Edge and collected the leftover pieces of Brian Earl Spilner's life. If he was going to escape ahead of the aiding and abetting charges undoubtedly coming down on his head, he'd need a racer's way out, and Harry's place was the first step down that road.

Not the last, though. Harry was a CI, after all, even if he'd liked Brian enough to give him a head start before calling Sergeant Tanner. Brian hadn't told him any more than he'd had to, nor any of the other people he'd spoken to over the next couple of hours, tying up every loose end he could think of before moving on. He'd had to move fast to get it all done before his face showed up on the news or someone spread word about his betrayal- but he'd found all the help he needed, and then some. Just because he was one of Dom's, one of _their_ people in obvious need.

Lying to them one last time on his way out was like taking a fist to the gut. But Brian had no other choice. The only choice he _did_ have was what direction he'd head in when he left the city.

...And whether he was going to take anyone with him. He didn't even try to call Mia; he knew the cops would be all over her, and he doubted she wanted to hear from him, anyway, after everything that had happened that day. But he could check up on the others, and did. Leon and Letty were long gone, like Dom said; if they'd stopped to seek treatment for Letty's injuries, either it hadn't been in L.A. or they'd used another name. Jesse was still in surgery with three gunshot wounds to the torso, and not expected to survive; and there was a police presence there, too. Vince, though...

Vince had gone to a different hospital, admitted as a John Doe in the rush to get him under the knife. They'd run his prints after, but something must have fallen through the cracks somewhere, or not finished processing back at HQ. They hadn't connected Vincent Matthews to Dominic Toretto yet, or the heists, or the Officer O'Conner newly wanted for questioning by the F.B.I. And better yet, neither the cable cuts to his arm nor the gunshot wound to his side had been quite as bad as Brian had feared. He'd been lucky. It would be hell on him to move him while he was still in serious condition- but he'd made it through with a decent prognosis, and that left Brian with a narrow window of opportunity.

Stealing Vince out from under Tanner's nose wouldn't help his case with the LAPD when the evidence came back from the truck and the wrecked Honda. Nor would it endear Vince to him; he'd refused to give Brian the slightest benefit of the doubt since the first day he'd laid eyes on him, and that would probably only get worse now that he had confirmation of his suspicions. Brian really _was_ the wolf in sheep's clothing Vince had tried to warn Dom about, and the violent shattering of that brotherhood would weigh heavier with a guy like Vince than any mere life-saving rescue. But Brian couldn't _not_ do it, any more than he could have let the cops take Dom when he had the means to stop it.

He parked his red GT as far away from the emergency lanes as he could, ducked into the waiting room at the tail of someone else's family, and put his undercover skills to use one more time: charming a nurse for Vince's location, lifting a set of scrubs, collecting enough to supplies to care for Vince's wounds on the road for at least a few days, and then sneaking into Vince's room to steal the man himself.

Even with a wheelchair ready, that proved to be a fairly time-consuming process. Brian had never really appreciated, until he found himself manhandling Vince's weakly cursing, mostly-inert form off the bed, just how _big_ the guy was; around Brian's height, but bulkier, muscled more like Dom and heavy as hell. With the bandages and all carefully taped to his flank, the miles of gauze wrapping his freshly stitched right arm, and all the drugs in his system he made for a _really_ unwieldy burden, worse than he'd been on the truck when the rush of the moment had blurred everything.

On the other hand, at least he wasn't fighting Brian as much as he could have been. And, okay, so Brian would be lying to himself if he said he'd _never_ appreciated Vince's form; he'd had it pressed up against him a few times in their squabbles over Mia's tuna those first few weeks before he'd lost the Eclipse to Dom and earned his way into the Torettos' good graces. He was built, with nitrous in his veins just the way Brian tended to like them when he went for that flavor. But he'd had all too much of Vince's blood on his hands that day already, and every heavy footfall in the hallway made him twitch in anticipation of discovery. _Not_ the kind of adrenaline rush he appreciated.

Finally, though, Brian managed to get them moving. A little more distraction here, a little more manhandling there, and they were in the GT and on their way out of the parking lot before anyone twigged that something was up. Thank God for the speed of bureaucracy.

They were still fucked. Utterly and completely fucked, and the only thing he could think of was to head east for a few hours, find an out of the way motel that would take cash, and fort up with Vince until he was sure it was safe to move him farther. He knew a nurse out that way that he thought might be willing to help for a few days. But there was no fucking way Vince would want to stick around any longer than absolutely necessary, so once he was tentatively back on his feet, they'd have to race their way toward the other coast. With luck, Brian could make enough money to buy another car and fix it up while Vince finished healing, then send him off to find Dom or some other bolt hole of his choice.

After that... well. Brian would have to check when Rome's house arrest was up; that reunion was a long time coming. He'd probably find a niche somewhere, wait out the news bulletins, then head for Barstow. There was no point in making plans for after that yet, though.

It was _his_ turn to live life a quarter mile at a time.

* * *

Vince slept hard that afternoon, which was a blessing. He woke only enough to ask where Dom was once or twice, or to complain viciously when Brian had to move him or change his bandages. The penny didn't seem to have dropped yet, though, about who Brian really was, which came as an unexpected shock. He must've been too out of it to hear Brian make the call as Officer O'Conner, and none of the doctors or nurses had told him the circumstances that led to his being airlifted in time to save his life.

The guilt Brian had been choking on ever since that conversation with Mia solidified like a rock in his stomach when he realized he was going to have to do the dramatic reveal all over again. Vince grasped briefly at Brian's hand with his still-strong left during one of the brief times he woke, intent on thanking him for pulling him off the truck; after he drifted off again Brian nearly put that fist through the drywall of the dingy little motel bathroom in frustration.

He shouldn't even _be_ feeling guilty. Maybe for lying to Mia, since she'd been an innocent in all of it except for the fact that she hadn't been reporting her brother's suspicious behavior, but not for lying to Dom, and _especially_ not for lying to Vince. For all they'd been using hijacking methods calculated to risk only themselves, not the truck drivers, Dom and his crew had deliberately and repeatedly broken the law- Brian had _not_ been in the wrong. If it hadn't been him, some other cop would have been sent in, and God only knew what the fallout from _that_ would have been.

He couldn't help it, though. He really _had_ gone native; he'd started to care, started to crave Dom's respect, Mia's warmth, Jesse's admiration, Letty and Leon's amusement, and even Vince's snarling attempts to keep him in his place. Maybe even especially that last; of all of them, Vince was the one who reminded him the most of home, of fighting with a teenaged Roman Pearce like two feral cats in a sack before they'd finally realized they had more in common than not and joined forces instead. And maybe that was the real problem: the thought of watching Vince's face when he told him the truth was giving Brian flashbacks to the day he'd told Rome he was going to the Police Academy.

Not that he thought Vince would ever have actually gone soft on him; he'd had Dom to look to. Unlike Rome, he hadn't needed Brian's approval or support, to the point he hadn't even tried to mend fences out of Dom's line of sight before Race Wars. That didn't seem to matter to Brian's gut, though; it kept stubbornly anticipating a new influx of eviscerating pain, making everything taste like bile and leaving him far too restless to even consider joining Vince in sleep.

He was gritty-eyed and wearily resigned to it by the time Vince finally woke up properly in the middle of the night, staring at him with a pained, puzzled blue gaze.

"Brian?" he asked, lines deepening between his brows, after the silence had drawn out several seconds.

Brian winced, but held his ground where he was seated on the room's second bed. "Vince? How you feeling, man?" he asked.

Vince blinked at him again, then looked around at the room and shifted his unwounded arm, carefully laying a hand over his bandaged side. "What's going on? You break me out of the hospital?"

Brian sighed. "Yeah. I don't know how much you remember of what happened on the truck-"

Vince grunted. "Enough; couldn't get free, and the trucker had a shotgun. Dom and the others tried to run interference, but they got jacked up. Then you and Mia found us. You jumped on the truck?"

"Yeah." Brian nodded, jerkily. "I got you out of there, called a chopper, let the dispatcher think you were a victim of road rage or something. The others took off, but they had to leave one of the cars behind, so they knew it was only a matter of time- I'm pretty sure Letty and Leon were long gone by the time the rest of us got back to the house. Dom had gone back for Jesse, but-" He winced.

Vince shifted on the bed like he was going to try to sit up at that, then went still, suppressing a grunt of pain. "What-"

"Hey, hey, lie still, man." Brian abandoned his attempts to sit the conversation out, crossing to crouch next to Vince's bed and press a hand against his unwounded shoulder. "I'm getting there. It's just- Jesse showed up just after I arrived, but before we could settle anything Tran and his cousin showed up. Driveby, automatic weapons. The rest of us were fine, but Jess-"

"Aw, man, no," Vince whispered, closing his eyes.

"He took three to the chest; he's not dead yet, but they're not sure he'll make it," Brian told him.

"Is he- can we-" he fumbled for words.

"Sorry, no. There's guards there. Pretty damn lucky they didn't already have you under observation, too. I'll try and call Mia in a couple of days, let her know you're safe, see if she'll tell you how he is. Dom and I took care of Johnny and Lance, but he wrecked the Charger, and I had to give him the keys to my Supra to get him out of there before the cops were on us." That was- the less complicated version, but Brian wanted to cover everyone else's news before backtracking to drop his part of it. "I have the GT; and that one's damn near as noticeable, so we'll have to lay pretty low until we can get out of California. Probably past there, too. I'm pretty sure the FBI will be running the manhunt on this one."

Vince's expression changed several times as he explained: puzzlement at Brian's comments about Mia, a fierce clenching of his jaw at the remark about Tran, worry about Dom's wreck, then back to puzzlement with the news about the FBI.

"The FBI? For a couple of truck jobs that didn't even hurt anyone except us?" he asked.

"For a string of very costly _interstate_ trucking heists," Brian clarified. "To investigate which, they created a joint task force with the LAPD and drafted in a rookie undercover officer. Who ended up giving his keys to his mark, kidnapping his mark's second, and going on the lam in the middle of the case. Yeah, I'd say the FBI will be hunting us."

"Who gave his..." Vince's eyes went wide, fixed on Brian's, as the rest of the sentence sank in. He jerked his shoulder away from Brian's touch, his free hand clenched into a fist as his face flushed with anger. "You _are_ a cop. I knew it!"

Brian swallowed. Yeah, there it was: the pit opening up under his ribs. Damn it. "Was, Vince. Or didn't you catch the part where I mentioned aiding and abetting in the commission of felony crimes."

"You're a _cop_!" Vince roared again, then clenched his eyes shut again, hissing in pain as he flattened a hand over his wound. "I told him!"

Brian didn't try to touch him to calm him down; he knew exactly how well that would go over. "Yeah, you did," he replied. "I probably should have waited to fill you in, but I'm done lying, Vince. So if you think you can put up with me for a few more days, I'll see what I can do about getting you a clean car."

"I don't want _shit_ from you," Vince hissed, turning his face away.

Brian took a step back and ran a hand over his face. "I get that," he said. "But you're going to get it anyway."

"Why?" Vince asked, darting a wounded glance back in his direction. "Why rescue me. Why bring me here. Why fucking help Dom?"

Brian gave him a faint, bitter smile. "'Cause I might not be family, but you are," he said, with a shrug. "Go figure. I'm going to get out of your air for awhile, but Linda'll be here in a few to re-wrap you and top you up. Don't scare her off, all right? I don't have any other nurses on tap."

He couldn't stand there a moment longer. He snagged his wallet off the nightstand, then headed out the door for the nearest bar to try and put Vince's last, flat stare out of his mind.

He didn't manage it. But he did succeed in getting drunk enough to sleep at last.

* * *

By mutual consensus, they didn't talk more than absolutely necessary over the next few days. Vince was still spending a lot of time asleep, and when the pain wasn't screwing with his head, the medications were. By the third day, though, he'd healed to the point Brian was pretty sure he wasn't in danger of dying on him, and he'd picked up enough from Linda to take care of anything Vince wasn't recovered enough to do for himself for the next couple of weeks. He told her they'd be leaving the next morning, then started packing their bags around dusk.

"Thought you told that gal we were leaving tomorrow," Vince growled as he watched Brian stuff clothes and supplies into duffels, half-reclining up on his pillows with a furrowed tension in his brow.

"You talking shit, or have you really not figured out why I would do that?" Brian scoffed at him, then jerked his head toward the TV. It wasn't on, but they'd both seen his face on the news the night before. "I didn't tell you before- but I met her on the job. She likes me, but I don't want to risk her changing her mind and reporting us."

Vince's scowl deepened at that. "Fucking cop."

"_Former_ fucking cop," Brian snarled, abandoning his packing as he stood and turned to face the wounded man. "You know, I don't get it, man. No, not why you're angry." He waved off Vince's immediate, indignant attempt to reply, advancing on him with a finger pointed at his chest.

"_That_, I get. You've been loyal to Dom since you were kids, and even though _you_ were the one pissing all over your own future, I'm the trespasser here for interfering. Forget the fact that I saved your life. _That_, I get. What I _don't_ get is why you fingered me for a cop before all this went down. They picked me because no one ever expects me to be fuzz, but you've been on my ass since day one. What I can't figure is if it was just jealousy over Mia, or..."

Vince's sudden, darkly amused laughter cut him off before he could go any further. "Mia? You think any of that was about _Mia_?"

That brought him up short. "Wait- what? Then what the hell _was_ it about?" he asked, throwing his hands in the air. "I wasn't even _doing_ anything back then. All I did was come by for lunch!"

"Yeah, and watch _Dom_," Vince snorted. "You'd flirt with Mia, yeah, but you watched every move my boy made, like you were starving and _he_ was the tuna. You think I don't have eyes? I _knew_ something was up with you. I just couldn't figure whether it was him you really wanted and you were using Mia, in which case you didn't deserve either of them; or if you were a fucking pig and using all of us. It was both, I guess. But Dom liked you, God help us; I could never get him to listen."

Maybe it was the frustration still burning under his skin, maybe it was Vince's bout of honesty, maybe it was the fact that it didn't fucking matter anymore, but Brian didn't bother filtering his reply. "Dom? I love him like a brother, but I don't trespass on other people's turf. I have eyes, too; you think I was going to risk Letty adding me to the skank list? I'd sooner have chased _you_, if you hadn't been throwing down with me since the first time you laid eyes on me. Did you think I handed him my keys because I was _pining_ or something? This isn't a chick flick!"

A flicker of something like consternation in Vince's expression reminded Brian that his voice was raising, and he took a calming breath. "I did care about Mia, not that it'll do me any good now that she'll never speak to me again; and I gave Dom my car because in that moment I respected him more than I did myself. Yeah, maybe I did mean to turn the heist crew in when I got started. But I _never_ let myself believe it was you guys until after that next to last job, a couple of days before Race Wars."

"And why the hell not?" Vince asked, more calmly than before- like he was almost starting to get through to him. "What made us so special?"

Brian looked away. "Because you were a family, man. How could I eat Sunday barbecue with you guys and believe half the shit they put in your files? I couldn't believe you'd risk all of that for what, a thrill? Some extra cash? Hell, if Rome and I'd had what you all had, I doubt I'd be here, and he probably wouldn't have ever gone to prison. I should've never left him behind." He'd probably said too much, but it had been bugging him for awhile; hanging out with Dom's team had reopened a lot of old wounds.

Vince was quiet for a moment, processing that with a frown. "Who's Rome?"

Brian snorted. "Roman Pearce. Old friend. I guess you could call him my Dom, or maybe vice versa. Met him in juvie, and we kept each other sane until he fell in with a bad crowd and I wouldn't go along with it for once. I left for the Academy, he got his ass arrested, and we haven't spoken since."

Vince sighed then, a guttural, disgusted noise. "You know, some things about you are finally starting to make sense to me."

"Yeah?" Brian looked back over at him, trying to read his expression. It seemed more open than usual; but it was hard to tell, as pale and worn as he was. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Don't know yet." Vince shrugged with the shoulder not in a sling, then offered a hand. "Help me up, would you? If we're going, I'd better old-man my way to the john."

"Sure, man." Surprised, but a little hopeful, Brian crossed the shaggy ancient carpet and gave the other man a careful heave up, careful not to jar his wounds.

"Hey," Vince commented, when they finally had him upright. "What's your real name, anyway? You really a Brian?" He stared at him, not moving, facing him from only a few inches away; it made Brian's skin prickle, standing that close to him without adrenaline or anger firing him up.

"Yeah, the Brian part's real enough," he replied, staring back; he'd rarely seen Vince this close without his face twisting in a smirk or a snarl, and it was kind of fascinating, the way his features softened. He actually had kind of pretty eyes. "It's O'Conner, though, not Spilner."

"Huh. Suits you better." Vince turned abruptly away at that, turning to shuffle toward the bathroom.

Brian stood there a moment longer, trying to figure out exactly what had just happened. It would be nice not to have to fight his co-fugitive all the way across the country. But- no, no, that was probably all it meant.

* * *

Over the next few days, as they began their slow trip across country, Brian caught Vince watching him more and more often, a thoughtful expression on his face when it wasn't pinched with pain. They didn't spend full days on the road, though Brian would have liked to; oddly enough, though, he thought it was helping them avoid the manhunt. They weren't where anyone would have expected them to be.

They hit their first race in Arizona, which was pretty appropriate, considering. Vince watched from the sidelines, and collected their money from the racerunner before Brian even pulled back up to retrieve him, wearing a smug expression as though he'd expected no other outcome.

It did unexpected things to his innards, looking over to meet that warm look on Vince's face; it threw him back to boosting cars with Rome again, when he'd have done anything to make his friend's eyes glaze over with a certain kind of hunger. It was different from what he'd wanted from Dom; he'd looked up to Dom, despite everything. Vince was on his level. Vince...

Vince was driving him crazy. No way did he mean that look the way Brian was taking it. Getting up in the man's personal space to help him with the medical necessities hadn't been helping, either. Brian just raised his chin at him, doing the snowman thing, and opened the door to let him slide in; but that image stuck with him as they drove on.

There were more races in New Mexico and east Texas, enough to fund their motel stays and meals with the bulk of it left over for the car fund. Vince started talking again, tidbits about his and Dom's childhood in L.A. and the petty trouble he'd been picked up for occasionally before Dom went inside. He'd cleaned up then to watch Mia for Dom; which was apparently when his habit of always keeping an eagle eye on any newcomers had started. Brian talked about Rome a little more in turn, the parts that hurt least to remember, and some of the funnier anecdotes about being a cop; the stupid shit rookies sometimes got up to, getting to mod that Eclipse on the government's dime, things like that. They stayed away from charged subjects, and more or less got along; it was weird. Brian kept expecting it to end, but even when Vince got into a temper over something stupid, he never got prickly as before.

Some of that, Brian blamed on the news. He'd checked papers in every diner they stopped at, looking for sightings of either him or Dom; and at one stop, they'd found an article about his disappearance that said his car had been found abandoned. That meant Dom was still free. It hadn't all been for nothing.

He'd also found a payphone for Vince to call Mia at that stop. As he'd expected, she hadn't wanted to talk to him at all; she'd barely had words for Vince either, given the likelihood that the phone was tapped, but they managed enough cryptic conversation to convey that Jesse was still alive, though in intensive care. Another huge weight off Brian's shoulders. Vince was wearing a disgruntled expression when he came back from the call, but brightened up as he passed on the news; Brian thought about asking which tidbit he _hadn't_ passed on had pissed him off, but decided in the end not to press it.

Instead, he suggested they pick up an electric razor to take care of Vince's enthusiastic beard growth and a box of dye to at least make a gesture at disguise; and in exchange for making him blond, Vince insisted on taking the razor to Brian's head, too, leaving only the dark roots that had been previously buried under his sunny surfer's do. It felt strange at first, being only a quarter of an inch or so away from baldness; and it must have seemed strange to Vince, too, because it kept attracting his touch.

Brian didn't complain. It kind of reminded him of the way Vince rubbed Dom's head: one of those reinforcing gestures of family. And it kind of turned him on, too. Not that he planned to explain that part. It made him wonder if Mia would have done the same.

He supposed he'd never know. Mia had become as unapproachable as the moon, but her loss was already- unexpectedly- fading. When they found a right-side Skyline like buried treasure at a car lot just east of Houston, his first thought wasn't how amazing it would be when he got done with it- it was that he was pretty sure he was going to regret turning Vince loose as much as watching Dom drive away, or telling Mia about his real identity. Talk about your unexpected discoveries.

They found a place in Texarkana next to hole up for a few days, so he could borrow a garage to repaint the GT and mod the Skyline; Vince was doing a lot better, enough he'd be able to drive again with at least the one arm by the time Brian was done. But that was another subject they'd been avoiding.

* * *

"So," Brian said, gesturing to the new silver-painted Skyline, and the metallic blue repaint he'd done on the GT. "What do you think?"

Vince circled the Skyline slowly, nodding as he trailed his fingers over the hood, then popped it to have a look inside. "I'm not the gearhead Dom is, but I think the mad scientist would give you props for this one," he said with a little half-smile. Then he nodded to the GT. "Nice color. You pick that to match the Maxima?"

"Figured you might appreciate it," Brian shrugged, returning the smile. "She's all yours."

Vince snorted. "Figured, the way you've been drooling over the Skyline since you found it," he said, lowering the hood again and turning around to lean against the car. He was still moving stiffly, but the wounds were closing well; red and painful still, but not inflamed. Brian's eyes dropped to the thick new scars on Vince's right arm as he carefully crossed it over the other, then back up to Vince's face- where he intercepted a look he couldn't explain, one he'd have called heated in any other person.

Okay. So maybe Vince _had_ meant things the way Brian was reading them.

He swallowed and approached slowly, edging up into Vince's personal space. "So where you planning on taking her?" he asked, staring down at the total pain in his ass who'd started to become the center of his world over the last couple weeks.

"Where you think, buster?" Vince smirked, carefully untangling his arms to reach out again and snag the hem of Brian's worn grey tee shirt. He pulled a little, coaxing him a few steps closer, then shifted that hand to Brian's hip. "Miami sound good to you?"

Brian's mouth went dry at the heat of that hand, inches away from where his body really could use a little more attention lately. He dropped his own hands to brush over Vince's flanks, carefully avoiding the wound, and watched the other man's eyes dilate: yeah, they were really doing this.

"So maybe the Skyline's not the only thing I've been drooling over," he murmured. "Didn't think you'd be interested, though. I'll be honest with you, man. This last week or so has been seriously surreal."

Vince shrugged a little, tugging Brian still closer, until they were flush up against each other: no arguing that either of them was uninterested from here. "I've always had my eye on you," he said. "It's just I'm finally figuring out what I'm looking at. And I like what I see."

"Thought for sure you'd want to go find Dom," Brian tried again, though he couldn't seem to stop his hands from moving: tracing up and over the muscled swell of Vince's shoulders and down the firm planes of his pecs, just learning the layout of the landscape.

Vince had an answer for that one, too. "Dom's a big boy, and he's not going to want to be found. He knows he's the one they'll want- besides you- so he'll wait 'til the heat dies down to tell anyone where he is. He'll be way down Baja somewhere by now; anyone trying to trace him will be shit out of luck."

"Even you?"

"Even me. You got any more reasons I should go, O'Conner?" Vince chuckled.

Brian hissed as the sound vibrated through both of them: it made him feel _hungry_, and in that moment he was done fighting it. It couldn't possibly end well: he was reminded of Rome, again, and the flames that had accompanied _that_ crash. But he was living the quarter-mile life now: making choices and not looking back.

He made the choice, shifting his hips to grind his groin across Vince's. "Nah, man. You?"

Vince answered in time-honored fashion: by putting an end to the possibility of further words.

* * *

The next morning, Brian woke with sore knees, a bitemark at the base of his neck where no tee shirt would cover it, finger marks on his hip, and a sense of well-being he hadn't felt since before the whole undercover mess got started.

He didn't know how long the new developments would last. 'Til Dom came back? Brian thought they'd made peace there at the end, but there was still Mia's broken heart to answer for, and there was every chance he wouldn't think Brian was good enough for Vince, either. 'Til Rome showed up? Brian hadn't even cleared the air with Rome himself yet, and Rome was volatile at the best of times. 'Til the first racebunny made a slur when they stood too close, or celebrated at a finish line, if Vince was even willing to go for PDAs? They just didn't know each other well enough yet to say.

But he did know one thing: he wanted to give it a try.

-x-


	2. Enter, Pursued By The Feds

**Title**: Enter, Pursued By The Feds

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Disclaimer**: The world belongs to Justin Lin, Vin Diesel, et. al. The words are mine.

**Rating**: T

**Spoilers**: 2 Fast 2 Furious (2003); Fast and the Furious (2001)

**Summary**: _"Barstow's a hell of a long way away," Vince said, gruffly, ignoring Pearce's outstretched hand. "What the hell's he doing here?"_ 5800 words.

**Notes**: In continued fulfillment of a meme prompt, specifically the part, "For whatever reason he still has to call in Rome and Rome and Vince DO NOT GET ALONG." Alternate canon cut scenes for 2 Fast 2 Furious.

* * *

Vince was still in the shower when his partner's cell phone rang, washing off the sweat of a Miami afternoon. His wrecked arm was still tight and sore, even after several months of healing, and he didn't quite have all his stamina back yet, but that only kept him from serious racing; he could still handle a wrench, among other things, as well as he ever could.

Good thing, too, the way Brian tended to demolish the competition. He'd grown into himself since leaving LA; without Dom to look to, he'd sort of _become_ the Dominic Toretto of the Miami scene. Every time he raced, business picked up at affiliated garages.

And every time he raced, he went home with Vince to burn off his energy. That still boggled Vince's mind. Hitting the sheets with the buster: he could just imagine Dom's face when he found out. Or Mia's. He wasn't exactly looking forward to _that_ conversation.

Dom wasn't there, though- and wouldn't be, for a good long while. Mia was all the way across the country. Brian was _right there_. And the ex-cop had turned out to be surprisingly easy company, when they weren't squabbling over everything and nothing. Vince still missed the team, but- not enough to ruin the good thing he had going.

He listened to Brian's grunt of a greeting, smirking at the anticipation in his voice as he replied to whoever was on the other end: "Yeah, you know we could use the money."

Good; spare cash had been a little scarce since challengers had started backing off the line rather than face 'Bullitt'. They weren't exactly hurting yet, but keeping the Skyline and the GT in racing shape wasn't a cheap proposition. He ducked his head under the spray, rinsing the last of the suds away, then stepped out of the shower and snagged a towel on his way out of the bathroom.

"All right, I'll be there," Brian added, then tossed the phone at the bed and stooped to snag a pair of khakis off the floor.

Vince whistled at the view, shaking his head as it disappeared under tan fabric and a hastily sniffed white tee. "Tej?" he asked, scrubbing his towel over wet hair.

"Tej," Brian nodded, blue eyes darting apologetically his way. "Sorry, man; I only got four minutes to be there."

Vince rolled his eyes, then dropped his towel over Brian's and bent to retrieve a set of clothes of his own. He knew what a picture he made, scars and all, and smirked as Brian's eyes followed the shift to take in all the damp skin on view. "Pick up a pizza and a six pack on your way back," he suggested.

Brian flashed that crazy-bright smile of his in reply, toeing on his Sketchers. "You got it," he said. "Wish me luck?"

"Like you need it," Vince scoffed. "Go on, get out of here."

Brian laughed, then darted for the door of the houseboat and went, dashing out in to the warm night. The sound of the Skyline starting up followed a moment later, then the squeal of tires as he peeled out of the lot behind Tej's to head for that night's rendezvous.

* * *

Later, Vince wished he _had_ wished Brian luck, or at least sent him off properly. He heard several tuned engines roll up to the garage an hour or so after his partner took off- but the expected sound of footsteps never followed. He drank the last beer in the fridge waiting for Brian to walk in, then chucked the bottle in the trash and went looking for the garage's owner.

Tej took one look at him and winced, his expression saying it all.

"What the hell happened?" he snarled in reply.

"I don't know, man. Cops showed up just after he collected his winnings, and everyone scattered. Haven't seen hide nor hair of him since." Tej shrugged. "Thought he'd have called you, though, if he had to lie low. Or, you know. Regardless."

Yeah. Except Tej didn't know Brian used to be five-oh; he knew they'd lit out of L.A. ahead of a tidal wave of shit coming down on them, but they'd never told him the full extent of it. Brian wouldn't use his one call to point the cops in Vince's direction, not after all he'd done to take the team off the radar. A year ago, Vince might not've been so sure of that- but a year ago, Brian hadn't yet given his keys to Vince's best friend and scraped Vince himself off a truck and later a hospital bed ahead of an FBI manhunt.

"Cops? Shit." He ran a hand through his hair. "Didn't you have anyone listening?"

Tej rolled his eyes. "Teach your grandma to suck eggs; of _course_ we were monitoring the police band. Never heard a peep, though. Not even after we lifted the bridge- and I made for _damn_ sure nothing was scheduled to go through there tonight."

Vince didn't like that. He didn't like that at _all_, neither the part about the bridge- what the hell?- or the suggestion that whatever had gone down had been orchestrated. He knew better than to accuse Tej of being a rat, but if there wasn't one somewhere in that night's crowd, Vince would eat that comb sticking out of Tej's 'fro. "Anyone else not make it back?"

"Not that I heard," Tej shook his head. "I better make some calls, though. Call me when Bri rolls back up, or you hear something, a'ight?"

"If he doesn't stop by the garage first," Vince snorted. Though he damn well better not, if Brian knew what was good for him.

"Same back at you, man." Tej gave him a wry, acknowledging smile, then shut the door between them.

Vince spent the rest of the night growing increasingly wound up as all his efforts to track Brian down struck out; then he went out for Coronas and cheap convenience store food, caught a few restless z's, and started the next day early when nightmares of the last truck heist woke him up. Hanging off the passenger door again, listening as the trucker reloaded his shotgun, arm a blaze of pain from the wire wrapped around it and a hole burning in his gut- but this time, no Brian there to pull him free.

He hovered in the garage the rest of that day and most of the next, waiting restlessly for news, but Brian never showed. Not even via a mention in the paper, and _that_ was even screwier than Brian getting swept up to begin with.

The only sign of hope he had was a single cryptic message from a burner cell, sent around noon the first day: "Keep low. Back soon. Snowman."

It had to mean that whatever was up, was more than just Miami PD cracking down on the scene. And that left way too many possibilities open, most of which spelled nothing good for the future.

The second day, Tej had scheduled a jet ski race out behind the garage; with all the splash and noise going on, most of the customers that came by weren't there for the cars, and even with Brian missing that left the other mechanics with plenty of time on their hands. Vince packed it in early and went out back to change into something without his name on the pocket, planning to start trawling impound yards for the Skyline. Forget keeping low; he at least needed to know where Brian _was_. When he came back out, though, to the sound of raucous cheers as the crowd divvied up the winnings of one of the races, his search was short-circuited before it could even begin: a flash of blond hair and a Choppers tee shirt a dozen yards away froze his feet to the deck of the houseboat.

It was Brian, all right, talking shop with Tej and some strange guy like he had all the time in the world. Vince set his jaw, flexed his hands, and started storming through the knots of spectators toward his delinquent partner. Forget being understanding and shit; after two days of pulling his hair out for what looked like no real reason, he was going to _wring_ the truth out of him if he had to.

Brian didn't even see him coming; wasn't even looking for him, the bastard. He was too busy asking Tej for some kind of favor; Vince could hear his voice carrying as he approached.

"Check it out. He'll be in town a while. Can he use that cot?"

"What's wrong with your place?" Tej replied with a smirk.

"I don't want to stay with him. He has bad habits," the guy drawled in response.

Whoever 'he' was, the stranger had a lean build, dark skin, plenty of tats, and a very familiar, belligerent stance; wherever he'd come from, it wasn't any kind of law enforcement. Vince recognized the type- and that just irritated him more. If Brian'd had time to collect some lowlife, how bad could it have been out there?

"Tell me about it," Vince snorted, stopping just short of the group and crossing his arms over his chest.

Brian met his gaze with a sudden, startled blink- then gave him a broad, guileless smile and reached out to touch the stranger's shoulder. "Vince! Hey, man, look here- this is Roman Pearce. I told you about him, remember? Guy I grew up with in Barstow. Rome, this is Vince."

Vince's scowl deepened. Yeah, he remembered. And even if he hadn't, he could _see_ the way they were all up in each other's personal space. It was obvious Brian knew how he was reacting to that, too; that devil may care routine of his was a surefire tell. The ability to keep his cool under any circumstances might have been Officer O'Conner's meal ticket back when he was undercover for the LAPD, but to anyone who'd seen him when the blinds were down and he had no one else to be, it was a dead giveaway that he was putting on a show.

"Barstow's a hell of a long way away," he replied, gruffly, ignoring Pearce's automatically outstretched hand. "What the hell's he doing _here_?"

Pearce pulled the hand back with a scowl, straightening up a little and puffing out his chest. He was a couple inches shorter than Brian, but seemed determined to make up for it in attitude. "Whatever I damn well please. What the hell business is that of _yours_?" he asked, cutting his gaze toward Brian.

Brian, the asshole, just chuckled at that. "Guys! Vince, Rome's here for the same reason I haven't been around the last couple of days- it's a long story, gonna have to wait for later. But, Rome- it's Vince's business because it's _my_ business. Comprende?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Your business-?" Rome glanced back and forth between the pair of them for a moment, and then snorted, tipping his chin at Vince. "Oh. Your _bid-ness_, right. I gotcha. Me and him's gonna have to compare some notes later."

"Oh, _hell_ no, we _definitely_ don't have time for that," Brian scoffed, giving Rome a shove. Then he stepped around his friend, reaching out to lay a cautioning hand on Vince's chest.

"Vince- I know it's a lot to ask, but just keep it cool a little while longer, all right? There's an awful lot of eyes on me at the moment, so stay close to Tej and keep your head down 'til I say it's clear. Last thing I need to worry about is _you_ getting dragged up in this mess, too."

"Yeah? Thought you just said your business was _my_ business." Vince shrugged the hand off, narrowing his eyes.

Brian winced. "Not _this_ business. Like I said, I know it's a lot to ask, but-"

"Damn straight."

"Okay, you know what, I think that's our cue to let the lovebirds argue in peace," Tej interrupted, corralling an amused, wary Pearce. "Got one more race to run; then I'll show you around, man. C'mon."

"A'ight. Catch up with you in a few, Bri."

Vince barely noticed them walk away; he was too busy staring Brian down, demanding an answer.

Brian let out a gusty sigh, then glanced around and jerked his head toward the boat. "Look, it's cop stuff," he began, in low, hurried tones as they put a door between themselves and the crowd. "Customs, this time; they've got a hard-on for some drug lord down here. But they got that Fed with them from before- Bilkins. He knew exactly who I was, even told them how to find me."

Vince scowled. "And if they didn't arrest you- what, they want you to drive for them again?"

"Or something," Brian replied, dryly. "I'm not sure they care what happens to me after. They were gonna throw me to the sharks with some pimple-faced rookie for a partner- but you know as well as I do that most cops can't race for shit. I told 'em I'd only do it if I could choose the other driver."

...And he hadn't chosen Vince? Or at least someone who hadn't turned on Brian once already? "And you picked _him_?" he growled, pointing vaguely in the direction of Tej and Brian's friend.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Chill, man, and _think_ for a second. They get their hands on you, you really think they'll let you go that easy? They're still plenty hot under the collar about L.A. I did what I could before I left, but you guys left evidence all over the damn place, I couldn't wipe it all. And Bilkins warned me off that tack pretty quick: no deal for anyone from the team. They got no reason to think I'd make good bait for Dom, though. And Rome's done his time; it's no skin off their nose to wipe his record."

"You really think they don't know I'm here already?" Vince was skeptical about that.

"If they'd tracked me _here_, you really think they'd have risked running me down in the Skyline?" The corner of Brian's mouth curled up, half amusement and all smug confidence, as he jerked his thumb toward the garage. "Nah; Bilkins must've heard the rumors, like everyone else. Guy called 'Bullitt', gotta be a blue-eyed blond. Once he made the connection, it would've been pretty easy to track someone down and get a better description. But you've been pretty quiet in the scene since we got here, and let's face it, you were never as recognizable as Dom."

Vince blew out a breath, thinking that over. He hated to admit it, but Brian might actually have a point. "Yeah, yeah, you can stop with the hard sell, _McQueen_. I don't gotta like it, though. How long is this job the pigs want you for gonna take?"

Brian relaxed a little at that, reaching out to Vince again, settling his hand on Vince's hips. "I don't know," he said, solemnly, shaking his head. "They need us to put the kingpin and the money together, and if the guy's hiring drivers _now_, he's gotta be moving it soon. But I don't have any details yet. And the less I hang around here in the meantime, the better. The cars they gave us are wired to hell and back, and if we leave 'em out front longer than it takes to poke around in the engines like any good gearhead, one side or the other's liable to get more aggressive with the surveillance."

Vince swore under his breath. "Yeah, well, you sure as hell better keep me posted. No more of this radio silent, cryptic message bullshit."

Brian rolled his eyes, leaning in for an aggressive kiss and a little cooperative groping. "I'll try- but with either the Feds or Verone always over my shoulder, it'll be a little hard to have private conversations."

"Sounds to me like what you need is a little _motivation_," Vince replied, shifting his grip to make his point real clear.

Brian hissed out a breath, pushing him back toward the wall...

...and it was a good ten minutes more before they finished _that_ conversation.

"Rome's gonna kill me," Brian chuckled as they finally emerged from the boat once more, rubbing idly at the fresh stubble burn on his throat.

"He'll get over it," Vince replied smugly, his mood lightened enough to be magnanimous about it- for the moment. "Now c'mon; show me these deathtraps on wheels they set you up with."

"Says the man who was drooling over a Spyder just last week," Brian grinned sideways at him.

"No shit?" Vince said. "Damn; wonder who they busted to get their hands on one of those."

"You don't wanna know, man. You don't wanna know."

* * *

The next day or so was crazy as hell. Vince had only seen Brian that way- full on balls to the wall, nitrous for brains and no backing down- in short bursts since Los Angeles, mostly when Tej called him in to smoke the competition. Like Brian _concentrate_, all hard focus and no room for play. Or Dom, in the bad old days right after Lompoc. Baiting the drug lord's goons, arguing with the Feds, plotting out exit strategies in case it all went to shit in a hurry. Even Pearce seemed on edge- more than just the inevitable chest-beating, anyway.

He finally got Vince alone for a few minutes that evening, while they set up another race to snag a pair of spare cars sans GPS from another team of drivers, and glared him down, eyes glittering like a snake's.

"You that mark the Feds were talking about?" Pearce asked, sharply. "The one Brian gave up his badge for?"

Vince glared back. "No. This ain't that kind of fairy tale," he snorted, reminded of his first argument with Brian about the way Brian had watched his friend.

"You know all about it, though," Pearce guessed shrewdly, copying Vince's pose.

"Dom's been my best friend since I was a kid. Grew up together, watched over his sister while he was in Lompoc, ran on the same team. Never seen anything like the way he took to Brian, though, and I guess Brian thought he owed him more than he owed the cops." Vince crossed his arms, flexing his biceps to draw attention to the taut line of scar winding up his arm. "When it came down to the line- he gave Dom his keys, then picked me up and got the hell out of Dodge. I was a little out of it at the time, though; so if you want details, you'll have to ask him yourself. I'd have died if Brian hadn't blown his cover first, saving my life."

"That so?" Pearce asked, belligerently.

"That's so," he nodded, not budging an inch.

Pearce snorted, eyeing Vince up and down. "You know. If I've told that boy, I've _told_ that boy it's his dick always gets him in trouble. Guess it won't be that Customs broad this time, though. 'Less you ain't the jealous type..." He smirked, waggling his eyebrows.

Vince expressed his opinion of that suggestion without saying a word. Dominance games were nothing new to him, and aside from Dom- and lately, sometimes Brian- he never bowed his neck, not to anyone. He knew damn well Pearce wasn't just talking about some curvy Customs agent, but whatever he and Brian may have been to each other before, it was in the past, and like hell Vince was going to let Pearce reclaim _that_ territory when it was his own damn fault for letting it go.

After a long moment, Pearce finally backed his mood down a fraction, chuckling ruefully. "Yeah, I thought so. A'ight. Don't break him, and I won't break your neck, you feel me?"

It didn't completely clear the air- neither one of them liked sharing Brian's attention with someone they couldn't help but think of as competition- but enough that Vince didn't feel the need to punch Pearce every time he saw his face, at least. They shared a couple stories that night after the race, and found they actually had a lot more in common than they'd expected; as it happened, Brian and Roman's childhood hadn't been much different from Dom and Vince's. If anything, Dom's had been the most privileged out of the four of them... and Brian had actually spent more time in juvie than Vince.

It was the kind of shit Brian never talked about, preferring to keep his focus on the present, but it explained a lot about him that Vince had wondered about before. He was no longer surprised at his lover's adaptability; the strangest part was that he'd gone for a cop at all, not that he fit in their world like he belonged to it.

Turned out, he did. And until Vince felt that fact settle in his bones, he'd had no idea how much that question had been bothering him: the worry that one day, surfer boy was sure to wake up, realize he was slumming it, and decide to pick up his old life where he'd left off.

He'd had no idea how much he _wanted_ Brian to stick around indefinitely, either. He'd never held onto a woman as long as he'd held onto the buster... and he was starting to think that that should have been a sign. Maybe he couldn't have admitted it back in LA, not as tense as things had been with the team after the 'jackings started, but now? Nothing would ever be the same even if they _could_ put it back together; this one more thing wouldn't upset the balance any more than it had been already.

It was stupid, the kind of shit that could fuck people up about each other. Vince liked to think he learned from his mistakes, but- he was still the same guy who'd wanted to kill Brian for eyeing Dom while dating Mia, and Brian was still the same guy who'd dumped them all in the shit by trying to have his cake and eat it, too. He was just as glad that this time, someone else had cleared the air for them.

But if they could just get Brian through this latest shitstorm... it might be time for them to clear some _other_ conversations, too.

* * *

Unfortunately, the forecast for success had started out poor, and only got worse over the next couple of days.

Strike one, Brian and Pearce's meeting with Verone and the Customs agent, Fuentes, went over like a brick; Vince could see the ice building up behind blue eyes from a mile away when they returned from the Pearl and interrupted Vince's poker game with Jimmy, Tej, and Suki. Strike two, Vince woke the next morning to the crawling of eyes up his spine; he swept the gun out from under his pillow just in time to intercept a stricken look on the face of a very pretty Latina who could only be Fuentes herself.

She wasn't dressed to the nines, though, the way Brian had described her before; she'd come with her hair down, her makeup off, a pair of flat sandals on her feet and a very short tee shirt tied off under her breasts, trading sophistication for girl next door appeal. Three guesses what that effect was aimed at, and the first two didn't count. It looked like Pearce had been right about her interest in Brian after all.

"The hell are _you_ doing here?" he growled, lowering the muzzle of the gun as he tried to figure some way out of the clusterfuck implied by her presence.

"Me?" she hissed in reply, clearly thrown, as Brian stirred on the other side of him. "You- you're one of Toretto's crew, aren't you? What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

So much for hiding his presence from the Feds. "What do you _think_ I'm doing here, sister?" he leered, deciding to brazen it out. Fuentes was having her own trouble with the undercover life, according to Brian; maybe they could at least persuade her not to mention him to her bosses.

"But..." she began again, staring between them, then swallowed back the rest of that sentence, glancing away. "Shit."

"Ugh. 'S'at... Monica?" Brian cracked an eye open finally, lifting his head to peer over Vince's bare chest.

Vince suppressed a chuckle that _that_ had been the word that woke him, but didn't bother hiding the smirk at having been the cause of Brian's lethargy. "Yeah. Think she's come to tell you something."

"...oh shit. Monica! What's going on?" Whatever relay switched Brian over from domesticated feline mode into calculating cop finally clicked over in his mind. He practically fell off the other side of the bed as he scrambled to his feet, snagging the edge of the sheet as a modesty shield while he snagged his jeans up off the floor, glancing worriedly between them.

She glanced back, briefly meeting Vince's gaze before focusing on Brian, a pained expression crossing her face. "They're planning to kill you. After the run- I heard him telling Roberto and Enrique. I thought you should know."

And there it was: strike three. Vince had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Like that's a surprise," he snorted.

"You sure you heard him right?" Brian asked urgently, scooping up Vince's shorts and throwing them in his direction.

She nodded soberly. "Yeah. I'm sure."

A fourth party joined the conversation then, making their little morning farce complete: yet another person Vince could do without seeing in his bedroom, ever again.

"Verone's boys is outside," Pearce announced without preamble, blinking as he belatedly clocked Fuentes' presence in the room. "Oh, I see what they're looking for; y'all got his little girlfriend in here. Thought you didn't like sharing, homie."

Fuentes swallowed, alarmed. "But- they can't know I'm here. I snuck out!"

Vince whipped the shorts Brian had passed him under the sheet and wriggled into them quickly, keeping the gun ready to hand as he did so. "Shut it, Pearce. And what the hell are they here for, then?"

"I don't know- maybe they're guessing?" Panic was creeping into Fuentes' expression, much less attractive on her than the earlier jealousy, and Vince sighed. So much for trying to make a deal. They'd just have to trust in her gratitude for saving her ass- if they could even manage to swing _that_.

"Go stall them for like, two minutes," Brian told Pearce, then moved to guide her over to the bathroom, the only real hiding place in the boat, murmuring to her as they walked. Vince turned away, scanning the floor for a shirt to cover up with, then sniffed himself and realized it was pointless; there was no covering up what they'd been up to short of a shower. Come to think of it, though, that might even be better...

"No, leave your shirt off too," he told Brian as the other man stalked back to his side, jerking his head toward the door. "Those assholes out there know you swing for dick?"

Brian looked startled- then contemplative, then full on smug as he caught on. He half-draped himself over Vince as they headed for the door, all warm skin and sticky sweat against Vince's back and side; Vince didn't even have to fake the shit-eating grin splitting his face.

Brian chuckled to himself as they stumbled through the door, interrupting Pearce's half-assed attempt at taunting Verone's guys. The pair looked like typical drug lord muscle, well-armed, dressed Miami chic in silk shirts with ostentatious gold jewelry; they turned as one to the door when Vince and Brian came out, and adopted the most _interesting_ expressions at the sight they made.

The confrontation defused pretty quickly after that, much as Vince had expected, even after Verone himself put in an appearance. Vince could have lived without showing up on the guy's radar- _or_ the Spanish slurs the gunmen spat under their breaths- but the scene was worth it for the release of tension in Brian's shoulders when all three of the bastards seemed to instantly forget about searching the boat in favor of delivering some last-minute instructions.

"Just one more day of this shit," Vince swore after they left, leaning back against Brian in relief.

"_If_ Juliet don't tell on y'all," Pearce commented. "_And_ Verone don't sweep us under the rug with the rest of the dirt. I don't like the way this smells, bruh."

"Yeah. But what else are we gonna do, at this point?" Brian sighed. "C'mon. We'd better go report in."

* * *

Vince might have picked up a lot of new tricks since meeting Brian, but _patience_ had never been one of them. The next twenty-four hours seemed to crawl like molasses, especially after Brian came back from the meet with Bilkins and the Customs guys even grimmer than before. At least, after the incident on the boat that morning, Brian had no good excuse to keep him penned up. Either the Feds knew Vince was there, or they didn't, but running around helping Tej set up a pig trap wasn't going to make him any more visible than he was already.

From there, it was easy to get in on the actual distraction the next morning, waiting in the massive garage complex with the rest of the local race crews, playing a part in the scramble when all hell finally broke loose. He peeled out in his metallic blue GT, following the flow... and snuck on out to the point with Jimmy, waiting for Brian and Pearce to pull up with the money in their trunks.

Only one of them made it, though: Pearce, looking as frustrated as Vince felt.

"What the hell?" he growled in disbelief, balling his hands into fists. "Where is he?"

"Headed for Tarpon Point," Pearce shook his head. "The feds are in the wrong place. Fuentes is on her own with Verone."

Vince felt sick. He knew what that meant; he'd been witness first-hand to Brian's suicidally heroic tendencies. He might have left the badge behind, but that hadn't changed the type of guy he was.

"So Brian's not coming," he swore. Then he turned and slid back behind the wheel. "C'mon, then. Let's go."

"You crazy, man? Verone ain't expecting you."

"He ain't expecting to let you live, either," Vince snorted. "I'll hang back and play back up. Just get your ass in gear!"

The next half an hour or so was the kind of crazy he'd gladly never live through again. Brian escaped getting shot by a hair's breadth and the skillful driving of Roman Pearce, then leaped into the passenger side of Vince's car- and barely escaped getting shot _again_ after Vince drove the GT onto Verone's boat. Luckily, Vince survived the crash in good enough shape to scoop up Brian's handgun and plug the drug lord through the throat- though he certainly didn't feel like it when he had to dive over the side into the water to escape questioning. Thank God Fuentes seemed willing to play along after all.

It was a much bedraggled crew that reassembled on the houseboat hours later: Brian in a sling, Vince bruised and bedraggled, and Pearce bitching about the Feds repossessing the Spyder. But they'd won. And from the looks of the pile of bills on the kitchen counter- flush enough to replace the Skyline and then some. Flush enough to feed themselves for a good long while, even if Brian backed off of racing to keep his record clear.

"So how you feelin' about Miami now, cuz?" Brian asked Pearce, giving him a cock-eyed grin.

"Think I'd better stick around to keep your ass out of trouble, is what _I_ think," Pearce replied. "'Cause clearly, your homeboy ain't doin' enough," he added, arching his eyebrows at Vince.

Vince snorted. "More like I'll be riding herd on _both_ you assholes."

"Aww, it's like he knows us," Brian chuckled, fluttering his eyelashes. Then he sobered a little, glancing between them both. "I don't know, though. Vince- I think Bilkins figured out you were there. Or at least that _someone_ was, since neither me nor Monica had gunshot residue on our hands. Before he let us go, he as good as said he'd sponsor me if I wanted to join up and set up a deal from inside."

Vince's jaw dropped. "Join the _FBI_?" he barked.

"Oh, _hell_ no," Pearce added his two cents. "It was bad enough when you turned po-po, what the hell you going to do in a suit? More undercover shit? They going to run you into the _ground_, Bri, and _if_ you're lucky, when the statute of limitations is almost up, dangle you a line to try and draw your man back in. Don't you _dare_ play into their game."

Brian swallowed, but didn't reply, staring at Vince as if waiting for his verdict.

"What he said," Vince said, gruffly. "It's what, six years in California for most felonies that don't warrant life without parole? Better believe I asked Mia to look that shit up. We can wait that long to put the family back together. Don't sell yourself to Bilkins on my account. Dom wouldn't ask you too, neither."

Brian slumped into a chair, looking considerably relieved. "Yeah. You know, though, if you weren't here... if I hadn't stopped to get you on my way out of L.A..."

"Yeah, well that ain't what happened," Vince said. Then he jerked his chin at Pearce. "Hey. Mind if we catch up with you later? I got a few things to say to the buster in private."

"Shit, you in for it now, bruh," Pearce chuckled. But he got up without argument, nodding to Vince as he headed for the door.

"So," Brian said as it swung shut behind his friend.

"So," Vince said, reaching out to finger the strap of the sling cutting across Brian's chest.

Brian snorted, a challenging spark flashing back into his eyes. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not breakable, you know."

"Nope. Just everything I never should've wanted," Vince admitted, roughly.

Brian took a sharp breath, then grinned, suddenly more luminous than Vince had ever seen him. "You're telling me, man. You're telling me."

_All's well that ends well_, Vince decided, then fisted his hand in Brian's collar, dragging their mouths together to celebrate properly.

_...Or at least, comes to a satisfactory middle_. After a beginning like this, who knew where the rest of their lives would lead?

One thing Vince could say for sure: he was definitely looking forward to the rest of the ride.

-x-


End file.
